Lessons in Exile
by SwoonsAndSais
Summary: Bumblebee swore that he'd always protect Sam from harm, but it's not Sam who needs the protecting this time. EDIT: Chapter 1 and 2 revised.
1. Chapter 1

**Lessons in Exile **

**Chapter 1 **

The car pulled out of the mountain pass and cleared the ridge into the desert. The air was still warm and the moon made the sand glow like pearl. Samuel James Witwicky blinked slowly to adjust his pupils and settled back into the warm leather seats.

"This is it, huh?"

The engine revved to make it up a small hill, then settled in to a coasting purr. "Yes. This is New Tyger Pax, or Autobot City if you like. You will be safe here."

Sam smiled wryly. "It's not me they're after this time." His car was silent, turning the matter over in his processors as he'd been doing lately. Sensing that the conversation was over, Sam turned his head to the left and watched the scenery down below. From the mountain ledge he could see little more in this giant crater of desert than what appeared to be a few satellite towers situated sporadically across the sparse, rocky soil. As he peered at their blinking antennae, the air around them shimmered and he saw – fleeting, ghost-like – glittering skyscrapers and metal walls. As soon as he saw it, it was gone.

"Bumblebee, what-"

"A cloaking device. Just another precaution." Sam looked intrigued and opened his mouth to ask another question, but Bumblebee stemmed that tide.

"Everything will be explained to your heart's content at the base, Sam. Right now, it would be best for your body to sleep. Your vitals are somewhat less than optimal."

"I'm fine. What do those towers do?" As he spoke, the chair he was in reclined and the radio tuned in to an easy listening station.

"They blink."

"Bee," Sam said warningly. The climate regulated itself to perfect sleeping conditions.

"Go to sleep, Sam."

"Pushy, smart-assed car," he mumbled, but his eyelids were already falling closed. His car chuckled over the sound of the music then grew quiet.

In this way they passed into the unmarked parts of Nevada. The Camaro zipped around a corner, lights growing smaller as they began their descent, leaving Tranquility, as Sam thought, forever.

Three Months Ago

It had been, for Gerard Carrefour, an enormously bizarre week. He'd taken the train from Paris to Nice and from Nice down into this backwater coastal town where his client insisted that they meet. For Gerard, used to the greyscale bustle of the city, this town of surfers and street markets gave him a headache. He burrowed deeper into his leather jacket and kept his eyes peeled for the innocuous discothèque where the meeting would take place.

Prior to this, a day or so ago, he'd gotten the phone call from his middleman. Rèmy was convinced they'd hit the payload with this one and Gerard, at his insistence, left the warm bed with the naked, nameless girl to go tromping into the cold night and the local bar.

There, at about 1 AM, Rèmy had slid a folder to him across the table. Gerard had opened it, looked at the picture, then back at Rèmy.

"Nice car. What is it, a Mustang?"

Rèmy rolled his eyes. "A Camaro. A Chevrolet Camaro. Not even on the market yet, even in Europe."

Gerard lit a cigarette and exhaled. "So?"

Rèmy quirked a grin. "Well…that's what it looks like, at least. Actually, it's a robot."

Gerard gave him a dry look. "A robot."

"Uh-huh. Got the job from some politician based in Lyons, who got the tip from one of our signal analysts working in the US."

He looked at the car again. "Why would some politician need a robot that looks like a car?"

"Who the hell cares, Carrefour? It's a huge check in your pocket for a simple grab-and-run. You gonna take it, or not?"

He looked at Rèmy who was practically vibrating. "What's in it for you, Rèmy?"

"A premium. Fifteen percent cut of your check."

"Ten. And I get full access to your arsenal of gadgets."

"Done." Gerard blinked, surprised it hadn't taken more haggling than that. This politician must be promising an enormous amount of money for Rèmy to settle for ten percent. "This is the guy's number. Meet him in three days in St. Raphael."

"Where the hell is that?"

"On the coast, I think. Just do it."

Gerard watched Rèmy grin at him, his rat-like face sweating in the bar's dim lights. Repulsed, he stood and shrugged on his coat, tucking the folder in an inside pocket.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Rèmy. By all means keep in touch, you greasy little rat bastard."

Rèmy grinned with too many yellow teeth. "You always did have a gift with words."

So now here he was, tired, grouchy and thinking wistfully of the nice bottle of Scotch he'd left back in his Paris flat. He settled instead for the tall beer the cute, completely underage waitress brought him. He nursed it slowly, peering through the haze of smoke and flashing colored lights to find anyone who might be approaching him.

It happened not ten minutes later. A tall man in his mid fifties with tan skin and a handsome face slid into his booth, smiling coolly at him. "Monsieur Carrefour, a pleasure. I am Frederic Duquesne. We spoke on the phone."

Gerard accepted the handshake carefully. This was a man of means, definitely. His breezy shirt was tailored, expensive, and the sunglasses hanging from his undershirt must have cost about what Gerard normally made in a month. "Nice to meet you. So…you wanna tell me what this is all about?"

Duquesne signaled to the barmaid to bring him the same thing Gerard was drinking before turning back to him with a smile. "Of course. No beating around the bush, as they say, for you. What I'm interested in, primarily, is that car, M. Carrefour. I know it means little to you, but I imagine your associate filled you in on the details."

Snorting, Gerard leaned back in the seat. "Detail, singular. That it's a robot."

Duquesne's smile was wry. "We'll leave it at that. Yes, it's a robot. A highly-advanced one. It is currently situated in the United States, in a small town in Nevada. I ask that you go in, take it, and get it back to me in France in one piece."

Gerard nodded. "I can do that. Just two things, though. If it's a robot, won't it have a defense system? Or two, why do you want this thing anyway?"

The barmaid bent further down than she should to deposit Duquesne's beer on the table and flashed him a quick smile. He chuckled and tucked a pink Euro into her shirt. "_Merci, Amélie_," he said and she laughed. When he turned back to Gerard, his eyes were still amused.

"Monsieur Carrefour, we are both men of business are we not? I can assure you that I will outfit you with everything you need to bring both you and that car back safely. My business I prefer to keep my own. Shall we leave it at that?" He passed Gerard a business card with two fingers. Gerard took it. "Meet me at that address tomorrow morning for your flight plan and introduction to your team."

"My team? I think you misunderstand. I work alone."

Duquesne's eyes glittered. "Not on this mission, I'm afraid. Believe me, you'll be thankful."

Gerard frowned. "You are making this sound more and more dangerous, M. Duquesne."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not as long as the odds aren't impossible."

"They're not. Just…stacked unevenly against us." He stood and tossed some money on the table, enough to cover a round for four. "Tomorrow morning, then."

Gerard nodded, turning back in his seat to stare at the business card and wonder what the fuck he'd gotten himself in to this time.

Five Days Ago

It was a dark and stormy night. The atmosphere was thick with adjectives.

So Sam thought as he lay on his back in his bed, tossing a basketball into the air and catching it coolly as if he were actually good at sports. When he tried to make a shot into the basket hanging on his wall, the ball bounced off of the rim and landed in his laundry hamper. Sam pretended that it had not.

The rain was really coming down; rare for this time of year in Nevada. Not really being used to it, Sam didn't have the slightest clue as to how to entertain himself all night. His parents were at the neighbors playing Bridge like old people should (though Sam often wondered what kind of Bridge resulted in tipsy mothers) and Miles was on vacation in the mountains. Even Mikaela had laughed apologetically over the phone when she told Sam she had to baby-sit. That left Sam with his usual alternative.

He logged online and double clicked 'Bumblebee' on his MSN buddy list.

-I'm bored-, he typed. Almost instantaneously, the response flashed on his screen.

-That is certainly understandable, Sam. What can I do to help?-

-What's it like out there?-

-It is very wet.-

Sam smiled. –Aside from that.-

-Not terrible, traction is acceptable. Visibility suboptimal but not impossible. Did you need to go somewhere?-

-Not really. Nowhere to go. Wanna play chess?-

-It is unlikely that you will win. I am a highly advanced cybertronic being capable of anticipating all moves, and you are terrible at chess.-

-Dream the impossible dream, buddy.-

The chess window popped open. Bumblebee waited, allowing Sam the first move. He moved his pawn, and before he could blink Bumblebee had countered.

-How come we haven't heard from the others in a while?- Sam asked conversationally in the box provided for in-game chats.

-Actually, I have been meaning to tell you about that. You are aware of the land the American government granted us in gratitude for our service to Earth?-

-Yeah, what about it?-

-We have been building a new city there, a home base for us and the new Autobot arrivals.-

-Whoa. There are more of you now?-

There was a slight delay as Bumblebee captured Sam's Knight. –A few. None that I have seen yet, but hopefully there will be more soon.-

-Crazy. Can I visit?-

-Yes. When it is deemed safe, you will be more than welcome. In reality, I am needed there the day after tomorrow to perform a few duties. I am loathe to leave you unguarded, but my assumption is that they will send someone to replace me during that time. Will you be alright?-

Sam laughed, abandoning the doomed game altogether. –Duh. There haven't been Decepticon attacks in forever, and I'm not just gonna drop dead.-

A pause. -Please don't say such things.-

Fondness swelled in Sam at his guardian's concern. –Screw chess. Wanna go get a burger?-

-Do not drop French fries in me again.-

-Pinky swear.-

Sam relaxed back into Bumblebee's seats, happy and full. Bee kept the temperature perfect – not too cold, no humidity. The rain falling cast shadows on Sam's skin, dappling the dim light on his clothes.

"What are you gonna do on the base, Bee? I mean…you have to have a job other than being my babysitter."

There was an amused ripple of static through the radio. "I am the Autobot's foremost reconnaissance expert," Bumblebee said with no small amount of pride.

Sam grinned, looking at the dashboard. "You're a spy?"

"Something like that. A gatherer of information."

"That's totally bitchin'. I never guessed."

"I'm afraid the meaning of this word escapes me."

"It's awesome."

"Oh. I suppose." They were quiet for a few minutes, Sam sipping on the remnants of his strawberry shake. Watching the rain made Sam feel strange, more sober or thoughtful than usual. He thought back over the past few months, about how his life had changed. He certainly didn't feel as awkward at school anymore – having a giant robot with GUNS as your best friend certainly did wonders for one's self esteem. He had the girl, he had the car…he drew idle circles on the gear shift, enjoying the feel of the leather.

"…Sam."

Speaking of the girl, things with Mikaela were going better than he'd expected. He'd thought she'd change her mind as soon as the shell-shock wore off. Instead, they'd become even closer, hanging out and playing video games just like he and Miles did. It was when she wanted to do more than those things that the trouble started. It wasn't that he was nervous, per se –

"Sam."

-It was more that he didn't like it when tough, boyish, sarcastic Mikaela turned into predatory, girlish Mikaela. It was like he was getting a glimpse of what Trent used to see – and he felt _great _about having what Trent wanted of course – but it was alien and awkward and –

"Sam!"

Sam blinked and drew his hand back. "Uh…oh, sorry, spaced out. What's up?"

There was static, then: "Your curfew is almost here."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Let's go back." As Bee pulled out of the parking lot, Sam forced his thoughts away from Mikaela, vowing to analyze it when he was more inclined.

Another car in the lot, a black Sentra with innocuous-looking plates, flicked on its headlights. In the driver's seat a man with a handsome face and a bomber jacket spoke quietly into his cell phone.

"This is Carrefour. They've just left and I am in pursuit. More as things develop."

The only other witness to the departure of the Sentra was a police car tucked into an alley beside the Sonic, the engine rumbling to life with no driver to pilot it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lessons in Exile**

**Chapter 2**

It had been a pretty sucky couple of weeks for Daniel. Well, most parts of it. It was nice that he'd been yanked from the middle of grad school and immediately given a job with the government. When he'd gotten the call, he hadn't questioned it in the least. Who cared what they wanted from him- It was the freakin' _government_! Maggie and Rob had been ecstatic. Sure, it paid chump change for the long hours they put in but it would sure as hell look killer on his resume.

Then, just as suddenly, he'd been handed a supplemental check and herded out the door with a brief handshake and a thank-you-kindly. No explanations, no offers to continue somewhere within the system…none of the things he'd been expecting at all. Except for Maggie. Maggie gave them an apologetic look, told them she'd see them in a few weeks, and saw them back to their planes. Maggie was staying in Washington for a while. Maggie had a job. Maggie knew exactly what was going on.

Daniel, Danny-boy as Rob called him, was not. And he didn't like it at all. He was okay with not being given a job, but to not be given any answers as to what he'd been working on in the first place? The military had brushed it off, said it was a "strange anomaly". Strange anomaly his poor tech-analyst ass. If it'd been an anomaly, the trained-within-an-inch-of-their-lives analysts the government had working for them would've figured that out within a few hours at most and there would've been no need to call in so many different analysts from so many different specialties: as if they were covering all of their bases. In short – they were flying blind.

So it'd been something serious, something big. And Daniel felt gypped for not knowing what.

That had found him holed up in his little crappy dorm room surrounded by wires and USB plug-in devices, smoking for breakfast while he tried to hack Maggie's files. There wasn't much in there that was incrementing – nothing he could even laugh about later. Until he found the file marked: NBE 2.

Well. So that's what'd happened. His eyes wide open, he'd rocked back in the chair to take it all in. An alien robot from another planet – if it'd been anyone but Maggie he would've laughed in their face. But it all matched up with the military's paranoia…so it had to be true.

He wrote about it on his blog. No one read it, he was sure, but he wanted to vent his frustration somewhere. He'd made it snarky, bitter, all of the things he felt for being left out of the goddamned loop…and three days later, he'd gotten the call.

The French apparently treated their people right. They'd been more than willing to pay up for all that he knew, provided he take down his blog and never breathe a word of it to anyone again. From the way his bank account had blossomed overnight, he would've been willing to whore himself out as the personal ass slave to any Frenchman on the planet - much less take down a journal that virtually no one read. He provided the middleman with everything he knew, the middleman gave it to some politician, and in one business day Daniel was a rich, rich man.

He looked down at the blonde girl petting his thigh under his Armani suit and grinned, sipping his cocktail. Life didn't get any better than this, he thought. Luck was a Lady, and that was a fact.

If you'd asked him if he felt guilty, he would've laughed in your face and paid you a fifty for the joke.

---

In the time he spent in the Witwicky driveway, Bumblebee made all kinds of interesting discoveries about humans from their primitive, yet informative World Wide Web. He read an awful lot of pages on the database of human youths known as "Myspace", attempting to learn the teenage vernacular. He was, he somewhat grudgingly admitted to Sam, the youngest of the first troop of Autobots sent here to Earth. In a ratio of comparative years, he was only a few Earth years older than Sam himself. It was a joy to learn that his best friends from Cybertron, Hotshot and the twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, would be part of the next troop arriving on Earth within the week. However, as much as he'd missed their company, he was more interested in learning about human youth than in how the youth of Cybertron had changed in his absence.

He talked to people in "chats", played a mysterious online game called "Chuzzle" and owned a Uni and two Aichas on the website Neopets. He could "lol" and "brb" and he was even starting to grasp the concept of "omg"; he knew the names of all American presidents, how to make an excellent cheese crepe and even the right time to plant begonias in the backyard. He could calculate trajectories of basketballs, could make logical predictions in NASCAR and knew the strategies Franklin Roosevelt had used to pull America out of the Depression. He knew that Sawyer's name was really James Ford and that he secretly loved Kate, knew that someone always had to be the Weakest Link, and when it was wise to make a Deal with the banker. He knew so many small little idiosyncrasies of the human race…but it was all useless.

Nothing could explain to him why Sam's eyes were brown, but sometimes when he smiled they turned almost mossy green. Or why he worried at his lower lip when he was thinking until it turned glossy and red. Why he had what Bumblebee had read was described as a 'pirate smile' but neither of his parents shared this trait. Why he liked blue but always wore brown, why he listened to one band on repeat for days but often didn't notice if he lost the CD, or why he was good in English and bad in History. Most of all, neither Wikipedia nor Yahoo nor Google could explain to him why Sam said he 'loved' ice cream but also 'loved' his mother.

That was what Bumblebee could never really find any solid information on: the human emotion 'love'. Humans were so contradictory with everything they did, throwing words around until the meanings were as mixed up as the emotions they described. Nothing could be simple, nothing could be clear.

Most of all, this question kept Bumblebee occupied in the driveway while the source of his ponderings snored in the bedroom upstairs. Bumblebee could hear him through the window every night, as the arid Nevada breeze teased his curtains, and inwardly he wondered why he really cared.

It was scientific, he told himself. Reconnaissance for the other Autobots, since that was what he did best. He was merely gathering information so that they all might integrate as smoothly and peacefully as possible.

But if there was one thing that machines were bad at, even autonomous sentient nano-organic ones from different worlds, it was lying. So Bumblebee did something only he would ever know about: wrote the truth down, saved it as a file in the deepest recesses of his CPU, and promised himself not to think of it again. It was there, it was acknowledged, and that was all that needed to be done. To use a human phrase, Que sera, sera.

So he pulled up Netflix online, bypassed their security codes, and spent the remainder of the night watching _Casablanca_, waiting for his human to wake up and smile at him, providing him with new questions to ponder over in the infinite nights to come.

---

Stakeouts were long, boring processes and Gerard wasn't thrilled in the least that he had to share his time with two other goons paid for by Duquesne's paranoia. He stared forward through the rain, trying very hard to ignore the voices in his head.

"Gerry? Gerry, you listening? Gerrrrr-rrryyyy…"

He ground his teeth. Especially when one of those goons was an uppity tomboy ragamuffin of an annoyingly young fifteen years old.

"Remind me," he droned. "Why are you here?"

"Because," her irritatingly high-pitched voice squeaked over the Bluetooth. "I'm the best hacker you'll ever meet, and Duquesne wanted-"

"No, in a grander sense. Why are you _here?"_

"Ha ha, very funny." Just to be a brat, Max sent a burst of static into his ear. He gripped it and cussed as she laughed.

"Damn kid sonofa-"

"Hey, boss, we got movement." Gerard shut up as the other guy, Didier, came over the line in his deep, unoffending baritone. Gerard snapped his head around and looked at the door. Sure enough, the kid was clamoring down the steps, turning the corner to climb into his Camaro.

"Alright, kids, lock on to his signal. I'm on my way to get you; Our client wants decisive action tonight. Try to keep it in one piece if you can. And for god's sake, Maxine, don't talk to me unless it's to tell me something important."

"You're the light of my life, Gerard."

He couldn't think of words strong enough to respond to her, so he just clenched his teeth and didn't say a thing.

---

Sam clamored down the steps of his house, tugging his jacket on as he ran. In his mouth he still had half a hot dog, hastily having eaten the other half in one huge bite. Bumblebee hated when he ate inside of him, which Sam found kind of vain and fussy although guessed he couldn't really judge, but this was a food emergency. He had about two minutes to get to Mikaela's house before he was late for the umpteenth time this week and he was absolutely starving. He slammed Bee's door harder than he should have and swallowed.

"Sorry, buddy."

Bee's engine started and he backed out of the driveway as Sam buckled his seatbelt. "You should not eat like that, Sam. It's bad for you."

Sam made a face at the dashboard. "Thanks, mom. I'll file that away for later."

"_You'll shoot your eye out!" _the radio chirped at him, and he laughed.

"Just get us to Mikaela's ASAP, okay? She's already gonna murder me as it is."

Bumblebee found that he was surprisingly reluctant to comply. He didn't say much of anything as they drove out of Sam's community, obeying the ridiculous 15 mile an hour speed limit. Sam finished his hot dog and wiped his hands on his jacket.

"You…have not been out on a date with Mikaela in some time, Sam," Bee said in what he hoped was a conversational voice.

"Yeah," Sam sighed and reclined his seat, not really in the mood that night to drive. "She…it's…I dunno. I love hanging out with her, she's an awesome girl, but…you know, she's kinda getting impatient with me."

Bee was respectfully silent, waiting for Sam to continue. He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I guess…I mean, we went through a lot together, but…that doesn't mean that we have to get married and everything, right?"

"No logical equations exist to support that scenario, no."

Sam grinned ruefully and scratched his nose. "Yeah, that's what I said. But she's a girl, she wants some prince to come protect her and all I seem to be able to do is drag her into trouble with national security and level up her Warlock in WOW."

Bumblebee turned this over thoughtfully. "Perhaps…" he said slowly, "It would be better for you to remain…friends?"

"I guess…we'll just have to see," Sam replied, chewing his lip. "Put on some cruising music, Bee, you're depressing me."

"I'm sorry, Sam," and the radio came to life, playing Kanye West. Pleased, Sam tapped his fingers in time to "Stronger" while Bumblebee kept quiet, thinking to himself.

Mikaela, as usual, looked fabulous. No matter what Sam thought of their relationship, he never ceased to be amazed with how freaking gorgeous Mikaela really was. She was wearing jeans, just as she always did, paired with a red v-neck t-shirt – a simple outfit that Mikaela made look like a million bucks. He knew he was grinning like a dork when she slid in next to him and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"Hey, handsome." She grinned and patted the dashboard, something neither human found strange anymore. "Hiya, Bee!"

"Hello, Mikaela," Bumblebee said, shutting his own door by himself. "My sensors tell me that you are releasing a new chemical scent. It is registering as very pleasant."

Both occupants sat in silence for half a second, translating that into English, before they both laughed. "Aww, thanks, Bee," Mikaela chuckled. "It's a new perfume. I appreciate the compliment, but what did I tell you about speaking normal English if you guys are going to be living here?"

Bee flashed his seatbelt sign at her, and she obediently clicked the belt into place. "Apologies, the slang of your youth is not something that our translators were programmed to speak. I have been working on it."

Sam, smiling at his best friend, rapped teasingly on the radio with a knuckle. "C'mon, you mean to tell me that XM satellite radio speaks perfect English? Try – 'You smell nice, Mikaela. Is that a new perfume?'"

Bumblebee pulled away from the curve, setting a course for the local cinema. "You smell nice, Mikaela. Is that a new perfume?" He paused for a few seconds before attempting to further the conversation on his own. "It is bitchin'."

There was dead silence. Then hysterical laughter from the two teens. Bumblebee made a distinctly annoyed noise.

"That was great, Bee. Keep it up. In fact, tell that to Optimus. Jazz would've loved it," Mikaela said affectionately. The mood shifted, not to depression but a quiet acceptance and content that they all felt keenly because they knew that – yes, he would have.

"So, remind me again why I agreed to see _Ghetto Tarantula Samurais from the Outer Rings of Mars_?" Mikaela asked, leaning against Sam's shoulder. He laughed and adjusted his grip, putting his arm around her.

"Because, it's going to be a complete classic. We want to say that we were there the night it opened to raucous applause and Guinness Record box office sales," he said, nodding sagely.

"_I was wrong, I realized now that I was wrong…"_

"Hey, you keep your bumper outta this." Sam kicked lightly at the door and heard Bumblebee chuckle.

As they pulled off the main strip of road they passed a grocery store where a Nissan Sentra had been waiting for them. It turned right out of the parking lot to follow them.

"Got them," the driver said. In the passenger seat, a girl dressed all in black, her spiky hair shoved under a baseball cap, typed away on a laptop.

"All set, Deeds?" she asked into her Bluetooth.

"Affirmative. Alleyway on 5th and Broad. Make sure they get here, and I'll be in position."

"Ten four," Max said cheerfully. "Ready, Gerry?"

"Don't call me that," Gerard murmured, and held up his gun.

"You know, I don't think any movie with the word 'Samurai' in it automatically qualifies as-"

The gunshots surprised all three of them. Bumblebee immediately adjusted his momentum, careening around a corner on two tires like no earth vehicle should be able to do. Sam looked back over his shoulder to see two people pointing guns at them through the back window.

"Bee, there are guys shooting at us! Three of them! They're right behind us!"

Mikaela gripped her seat. "What did you do _now_?"

"I don't know!" Sam protested. "They're not Decepticons! I dunno why regular people would want to shoot at us!"

"Hold on," Bumblebee commanded, coming to an abrupt halt three blocks from an alleyway. His doors flew open and his seats tilted up, depositing his passengers outside. "Go! Into the alley! Run and take cover, I'll call you when it's safe!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Both humans were on their feet running, making it to the alley and nearly falling over when they were met face to face with another, taller man pointing a gun straight at Sam's forehead. Sam swallowed, sweat working down his collar as he squeezed his eyes closed.

Nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes again, the man was pointing the gun down the street instead- straight at Bumblebee. He shot once to get his attention. The Camaro swung around when he heard Sam yell his name.

The bullet lodged itself into one of his doors. Bumblebee completed his turn in time to see the man point the gun at Sam once more.

"Bee! Bee look out! They-" His words were cut off by the gun being fired and his howl of pain. Mikaela screamed and tried to fling herself at the man as Sam crumpled to the ground. He threw her off and leveled the gun at Sam, but turned to look straight at Bumblebee as he did so. He smirked.

Bee's radios nearly short-circuited with the burst of ear-splitting electronic noise they blared, his tires skidding on the pavement and sending up dust as he rushed to Sam's side.

"Bee, don't, he'll-!" The man cocked the gun and moved his aim from Sam's bleeding shoulder to his head. Two seconds later, three things happened. Mikaela knocked the man's arm so that the gunshot fired out into the street. Sam managed to roll out of the way to the left, and Bumblebee's front fender slammed the man with the gun into the brick wall of the building forming part of the alley. His engines reversed, tires squealing as he backed up and slammed into him again. His radios were still blasting frantic noises, but in Sam's mind he understood.

_Leave. Him. ALONE!_

The man bent limply over Bumblebee's hood. When Bumblebee backed up, he fell to the ground, dirty and unconscious. By that time, they heard the approaching rumble of the two other gunmen's car. Mikaela looked behind her in time to duck the first bullet, which bent Bee's right mirror. Hastily she scrambled to her feet, dragging the half-unconscious, bleeding Sam into Bumblebee's passenger seat.

"Get him outta here, Bee!"

"Sam!" Bumblebee wailed as soon as Sam had collapsed into his interior. He wasted no time, peeling onto the highway and swerving to dodge more bullets. Sam panted and curled into a ball.

"Shoot it! Shoot the tires!" a man in a black jacket yelled. A flurry of shrapnel littered the ground as the two tried to pop the Camaro's tires, but within seconds it was long out of their range.

From around a corner, a police car started blasting its sirens. Immediately the shooters gathered themselves up and grabbed their bleeding companion, piling into their getaway car. They took off in pursuit of the Camaro just as the police vehicle pulled into view. It came to a sideways, screeching halt beside Mikaela and threw open its door.

"Get in," a deep, commanding voice thundered from inside. Mikaela shot a glance over her shoulder and hesitated.

"Do you want to live to see your male companion again?" The voice was decidedly more impatient this time. "GET IN!"

Her body reacted without thinking and she hastily buckled herself in as the car tore away from the curb, leaving skid marks and smoke in its wake.

When Mikaela turned to thank the driver, it was already too late. Locked in, tearing down the highway at a ridiculous speed, the only thing she could do was press herself to the window in horror.

"Barricade!"

"Hello, human," Barricade said grimly. "It's been a while."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I knew the new movie would make me want to write something - something to combat how completely underwhelmed I was by it. Everyone has their opinion. Anyway. This story is now AU, taking place after the first movie. Chapters will still be spotty as I work out plot (or rather, the multiple plotholes within), but I won't let it end here. Also, I like the idea of Ratchet having 'raised' Bumblebee, or whatever the equivalent of it is, like a foster parent so...assume that happened, as well. Thanks for reading! :D

**Lessons in Exile**

**Chapter 3**

Bumblebee was trained to, as the humans say, 'keep his cool' in all situations, including the most dire of battles. He was well aware of how to stall the leakage of his energon pumps should one be damaged, how to program his unconscious processors into sending out a distress call and tracking beacon, how best to care for a comrade who was missing his vital parts. He had absolutely no training, however, in caring for a fragile human, bleeding his life out onto Bumblebee's own seats. He'd already sent out a panicked distress call to the other Autobots, but had barely registered that Ratchet had replied and said they were on their way and would bring along one of the human doctors from the new base. He kept turning things over as he whipped across dusty roads out into the desert, trying desperately to think of something in his training that might help.

"Sam…" he said miserably, not knowing what else to do. "Oh, Sam…"

Sam, for his part, lay quietly on his back and only moaned occasionally in a half-conscious delirium.

Bumblebee's radio picked up static, then: "Bumblebee! We're nearing your position, be prepared to stop."

The sound of Ratchet's voice was like the Cybertronian equivalent of a godsend. If he could have, Bumblebee would be leaking very human tears of relief. "Affirmative," he managed in a strained and quiet voice.

When Ratchet came into sight, Bumblebee slowed down and pulled off the road into the sand where Ratchet met him. From his driver's seat came two men in blue shirts and khaki pants, already running over to Bumblebee with a stretcher. Bumblebee obligingly opened his door and allowed one of the men to pull his charge out tenderly with the aid of the other man and one woman who had also appeared from Ratchet's interior.

"This is Dr. Sheffield, Bumblebee, and his assistants Tyler and Carrie. They live on base with us to aid the other humans. Sam will be in excellent hands," Ratchet said gently as he pulled alongside his distressed comrade. Bumblebee could think of nothing to say, so he flashed his lights in understanding. He was focused on the puddle of Sam's blood pooling on his seat, and no longer beating through Sam.

His probability calculators were on overdrive. Death, permanent injury, two seconds later and he would have…

They shut down without Bee doing anything, obviously an override from another Autobot with high clearance. "Bumblebee. Drive," Ratchet commanded, firmly but not without understanding. Numb to anything else, that was all Bumblebee could do. So he drove.

---

Mikaela had pushed herself against the passenger side door as far as she physically could without breaking something, trying desperately to avoid the empty driver's seat. It took her a breathless half-second before she found her voice.

"Let me out," she said, trying to sound tough but nothing masked the edge of fear. "Let me out of the goddamned car!"

Barricade's deep, throaty voice came from everywhere around her, sounding dry. "I _am_ 'the goddamned car'."

"I don't care!" she cried nonsensically, and began to tug at the door handle to see if it would give. "Let me go or I'll slash open your seats and rip out your wires, swear to God!"

There was a resigned sigh and then a man was sitting in the driver's seat - just like that – no sparks, no Star-Trek shimmering, nothing. Just an average-looking middle aged man in sunglasses, one hand casually on the wheel. Mikaela's heart clogged her throat as the man's other hand removed his glasses to level a look at her.

"Alright, human. If it will calm you down to speak to a human face, we can play that game. I will not harm you, and believe me when I tell you that you cannot harm me, so keep that abhorrent hole in your disgustingly biological face shut while I explain."

Seeing that she really had no other options, Mikaela obediently went quiet, half from fear and half from curiosity. She watched the man in the seat, trying to discern where the hologram was coming from and could not.

"Megatron is dead. Starscream is a pathetic excuse for a leader and the new arrivals are mindless drones who follow his orders for lack of computational ability to form any logical series of actions for themselves. With Starscream in command, the war could already be considered over. Though more casualties may occur, it is clear who, in your human vernacular, 'has the upper hand' now." He paused to see if she was following, and because she did not interrupt or appear lost, he took it for granted that she was. "The Autobots will win and the Decepticons will be systematically hunted down and destroyed. I can foresee no other future than that."

Mikaela took a moment to process this. "But…you're a Decepticon. Don't you have to like, fight them to the death? Never surrender? That sort of thing?" She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with the big, bad, robotic police-car-from-space that had tried to murder her boyfriend and who, by the way, had tried to murder her too, AND half of Nevada thank you very much but so long as she was trapped in that police car, she could try to find out as much as she could.

Barricade – the man she assumed was a hologram created by Barricade – sneered. " Insignias only. One is not given spark as Decepticon or Autobot. It is a choice, one that can be easily reversed."

That took her by surprise. "So…are you saying that you want to become an Autobot?"

The disdain was clear in Barricade's voice. "Hardly. I am neither Decepticon nor Autobot. My loyalty lies with whichever faction seems to be most stable."

"So you're a coward." Mikaela was unable to keep that jab to herself.

"No," Barricade said simply, and the man disappeared. "I am a survivor. And I am taking you to see your human friend…should he still be alive."

The thought sobered her enough to shut her up, and they passed through the desert in silence.

---

The complex that Ratchet led them to was less a military base and more a minor city from the look of it. It was situated in the middle of nowhere, two or three miles off of the main road in a dusty basin that even lizards and sand snakes hesitated to frequent. Bumblebee had never been there before, but he was certainly not inclined to study the scenery too heavily at the moment. He pulled in behind Ratchet, skidding to a halt that sent up a cloud of dust. He had transformed in half the time it usually took, gears and wheels still shifting in to place as he knelt to watch the humans open the door and pull Sam out. They were not doing so gently enough for his liking, and he lifted his hands to help before they fell uselessly to his sides.

A distinctly human gesture, Ratchet noticed.

When they finally did wheel him out, he hit a bump and moaned. Bumblebee let out a burst of electronic noise before he realized that no one but Ratchet could understand him and he switched to Human English. "Sam! Sam!"

Sam lolled his head to the side and croaked weakly. "Heya, Bee. You okay?" The effort, with as much bloodloss as he had sustained, cost him his consciousness. He went limp.

A low, grinding moan came from somewhere within Bumblebee's body and he made to follow the humans wheeling his charge away, but a large metal hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up at Ratchet.

"Ratchet, let me-"

"No, Bumblebee. They will take care of Sam as best they can. You have other work to do to help him."

The thought that Sam might die in that room with only strangers and dripping machines to witness it was one that Bumblebee could not handle. "_No. _He needs…I have to…"

"Soldier!" Ratchet snapped gruffly and over one thousand years of training brought Bumblebee immediately to attention. "You will stay back and do the duty that is required of you. Report to the communications room for debriefing. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Bumblebee murmured, defeated. He transformed and drove off. Ratchet slumped a little, sighing. He remembered, instantly, years upon years of chasing after an increasingly reckless, headstrong yellow bot that had nearly driven his circuits to overload countless times – a bot that had grown up considerably since he joined the war effort with Ratchet's permission. Bumblebee was a fine soldier and had learned to follow orders well. For the most part, Ratchet was pleased.

There were those rare times, however, when he missed the defiance in those brighter-than-others blue optics and wondered if all that training had done him a disservice after all.

---

Optimus Prime showed up, covered in orange dust, a little under an hour later. It was rare to see him at this supply and construction base, primarily because he was needed so often at their new headquarters in Autobot City. These were special circumstances, however. Sam was a friend.

He found Ratchet seated behind a plate of double-thick glass, watching the surgery with a grim look on his face.

"How is he?" He asked gently by way of hello. A horizontal green beam of light went up and down Sam's body, sending information back to Ratchet as it passed. The human doctors inside, used to this and often relying on it, paid it no mind and continued their work.

"Sam is stabilized and the bullet has been removed. However, he has lost a great deal of blood."

Optimus nodded – another gesture Ratchet had not remembered seeing in their kind before. "Bumblebee sounded…distressed, when he called."

Ratchet made a garbled-sounding noise, the human equivalent of a snort. "He has been alternating between his driving need to impress his superiors with his professional dedication to his duty, and his half-hysterical need to break down the door and offer his own parts to patch up Sam."

The fondness in Optimus' voice was unmistakable. "You have kept him in that room for an hour. Surely that is long enough. He is very attached to the boy."

Ratchet swung around and met Optimus' gaze, one which he noticed was not covered by protective face plates and so looked even more compassionate. "I know he is, Prime. That is what worries me."

They sat in silence for a moment, both turning this over in their processors in their own fashion. "Do you think Sam will live?" Optimus asked in his I'm-The-Commander, Don't-Lie-to-Me tone that he rarely had to use on his soldiers.

Ratchet considered this, considered the doctors diligently threading blood back into starving veins, considered their supplies and the wound itself. He calculated every conceivable outcome, tallied them, produced percentages. Finally he said, "Yes."

Optimus relaxed, just a bit. "Perhaps you should go tell Bumblebee that."

Ratchet frowned. "I was thinking that you might be better suited to that job."

"You've spent the last," and here he inserted a word in Cybertronian, a measurement of time that humans could not easily grasp, "caring for that bot, and a quarter of that time giving him orders as a superior. Giving him good news would not be unwelcome."

The sound of gears churning and hydraulics accompanied Ratchet's rise to his feet. "Is that an order, commander?" he asked sarcastically.

Optimus chuckled. "It was a suggestion. Tell him to come see me when he is ready and we will discuss our options." His tone took on a sterner edge. "I want to know who did this, and why. This was no Decepticon weapon."

Ratchet nodded. "Agreed." He stood at attention. "Sir."

"Dismissed," Optimus said gently, then turned his gaze to the still form of Sam in the other room as Ratchet took his leave.

"Sam," he murmured. "What have we brought upon you?"

---

"Well _that _went horribly wrong," Max said almost cheerfully around a mouthful of cheeseburger. Gerard shook his head.

"If you speak again I will kill you. No hesitation, I swear it." He eyed his steak as he thought. "Didier," he said to the man on his left. "You were closest to it. Could you see anything? Weapons? Special sensing technology?"

The quiet bald man with the bandage on his shoulder shook his head. "No. It was an ordinary car. A nice one, but ordinary. Outwardly, anyway."

"Yeah, but it was pretty pissed that you shot the boy," Max supplied helpfully. "That was probably dumb on our part."

Didier rubbed his strained neck, sore from being slammed into a wall by an angry car. "Probably."

"Well, while you two discuss the 'what-ifs' of our operation, I need to get busy figuring out what we're doing to do next," Gerard snapped, taking a bite of his steak to buy himself a moment to think. "We don't even know where it went."

Maxine grinned at him crookedly. He frowned. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that the bullets in Deeds' gun were special ones from Duquesne." She leaned back in her seat.

Gerard peered at her. "Define 'special'."

"Like, 'Track anything it gets lodged in' special."

There was a long pause of silence, then Gerard raised his glass. "A toast, then, to our sneaky French bastard."

They clinked glasses appreciatively.

---

"So…" Mikaela finally broke the silence that had pervaded the last hour of the drive. "I get that you don't want to be a Decepticon anymore. You did have a pretty raw deal there and all, but look – if you don't want to be accepted by the Autobots, why are you heading straight into their stronghold? Won't they just attack you on sight?"

Barricade, apparently perturbed at this conversational turn of events, answered brusquely. "That is why you are still alive."

She blanched just a little. "Come again?"

"They will not fire if there is a chance you will be hurt. I can use you long enough to present my offer."

Mikaela decided to let the question of what happened to her _after _he was done rest for a minute. "Offer?"

"Why must humans always repeat what has already been stated?" He asked irritably. "Yes. Your upstart Autobot friend is in a bit of trouble, it would seem. I can help that, in exchange for exemption from termination."

"Which of my friends are we talking about here?" Any of the Autobots might be "upstarts" to Barricade.

"Designation: Bumblebee."

"Bee?" Mikaela blinked. "You mean _Bee _is the one they were after?"

"Your human male is of no more interest to the Decepticons," Barricade informed her. "Unless the new arrivals seek ill-guided revenge. Starscream may be interested in him," he added, almost to himself.

"But they shot him! They shot Sam!"

"You will notice," he added dryly, "that _humans_ shot your human companion and that _I _helped you escape, as well as the fact that they were shooting at Bumblebee first. You were caught in the crossfire – casualties of war."

The offhand, nonchalant way he said that sent a chill through Mikaela. "The guy…the one who shot Sam…he looked at Bee when they did it. They were trying to get his attention, weren't they?"

Barricade sounded deadpan. "You should hardly need me to confirm that as you were standing right beside him at the time. Now, are there any more questions or shall we continue this trip with an absence of organic foolishness?"

Mikaela took the hint and shut up, but the uneasy feeling in her gut remained.

---

Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and Ratchet were all standing in one of the empty hangars where supply boxes were piled in a corner. Bumblebee stared at them, fascinated by the way they didn't do anything because he needed something to focus on. Though he now knew Sam would live, that didn't stop him from feeling adrift. Ratchet was the first to speak.

"Now that Sam is stabilized, I think it's time we discussed what our next course of action will be." He nodded at Optimus. "Prime?"

Bumblebee, bemused by the way that his superior called _his _superior by a nickname, looked to his commanding officer for any suggestions.

"I think," Optimus began, "That our only action now should be getting Sam to safety. We cannot send him back to Tranquility. We must contact his parents, and take him to New Tyger Pax where he will receive medical care, our protection and the protection of the recent arrivals." He looked to Bumblebee for his input, but the smaller bot was decidedly silent. "Bumblebee?" he prompted gently.

Bumblebee looked up. "He was hit because of me, Optimus," he said quietly.

"We don't know anything just yet. We will discuss this further when everyone arrives at the city safely." That was met with a reluctant nod. "Now," He put a hand on Bumblebee's shoulder. "Why don't you go watch him while arrangements are made?"

With a grateful salute, Bumblebee was off. Ratchet looked up at his commander. "See? You handle these things better than I do."

Optimus smiled down at his medical officer. "You have the credit of raising him to be what he is. I think you must handle 'these things' just fine. I'll send Red Alert to replace you here. I think it best that you accompany us to New Tyger Pax."

Ratchet winced. "I agree with you on the latter, but I hesitate to put Red Alert in charge of anything. I would like to see this base intact, if you please. It has been very useful so far."

Folding in on himself while talking, Optimus transformed and Ratchet soon followed suit. "It has been some time since we have seen Red Alert. Perhaps he has calmed down. Anyway, he is the only one with similar knowledge to yours who isn't needed elsewhere right now."

"And why not? That ought to tell you something, I should think," Ratchet mumbled grumpily. Laughing, Optimus conceded the point as they drove out of the hangar.

---

Sam woke up around midnight, though "woke up" was hardly the term. He opened his eyes and peered up into intense white light, unable to distinguish what anything was and in too much of a drug-induced fog to care. He heard dripping and systematic beeps. His shoulder hurt – that he knew, but it was removed and far away, like being underwater and looking up at the sky.

Someone should call his parents, he thought numbly. He was going to be out past curfew.

A face came into his field of vision, silhouetted against the harsh light. It was a boy, about his age, little loose pieces of butter-blonde hair forming a halo around his head. The rest of his face was dark, but his eyes shone unnaturally bright – blue. They glowed, like cat's in the dark, with thin little circles making up the iris like ripples and no discernible pupil. It probably wasn't human. Maybe it was an angel. Maybe, Sam thought, I'm dead.

Sam smiled drowsily. "Hello."

A hand came down to touch his forehead – cool, soothing. Then a voice. "I'm sorry, Sam."

He leaned into that palm, softer than it should be, and happily fell back to sleep.


End file.
